


The house of Finwe

by fandomearth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celeborn is confused, Galadriel and Gandalf are QPP, Mentions of Death, Not romantic partners, Silmarillion week, Silmweek, implied russingon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:30:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomearth/pseuds/fandomearth
Summary: Ficlet for day 7 of Silmarillion week; anything related to the Silm.As she is about to sail for Valinor, Galadriel stumbles upon the Quenta Silmarillion and her family tree.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish phrases used here: 
> 
> N’i lû tôl, novaer- Sindarin for 'Until then, farewell.'  
> Marienna- farewell in Quenya, usually wishing someone happiness.  
> A lelyame, melda heri- Quenya for 'Let's go, beloved lady."

Galadriel stood in her chambers, her long silver garment scattered across the floor. She examined the books on the meticulously polished shelf, not knowing which ones to take to Valinor. Despite her many years of wisdom, Galadriel had never been fond of her husband’s books. It was not that she did not enjoy such things, but rather that she knew the tales too well for her liking, having lived several of them. She was inspecting a particularly thick volume when one of the books of the upper shelf happened to fall down, causing quite a stir. Galadriel crouched down to grab the volume, which was opened on a random page. Galadriel examined the page it had been opened in, seeing to her dismay that it contained a family tree, labeled ‘ _THE HOUSE OF FINWE_.’

At the very top of the page was written her grandfather’s name, Finwe, first of the High Kings of the Noldor. Galadriel remembered his candid smile, his warm touch. His memory took her back to a time when her name was Artanis Nerwende, and she sat next to her other cousins while her grandfather recited the writings of Rumil. But above all, Galadriel remembered the great love her grandfather had beared to her half-uncle, Feanaro. The way he had mourned over his father’s death was unlike anything young Artanis had seen, and her father’s sorrow only pained her the more.

Next to Finwe’s name was Miriel Serinde, his first wife and mother of Feanaro. Galadriel knew her not, for her fea had passed to Mandos long before she was born. Yet her grandmother had spoken miraculously of her, saying that no other maiden could compare to her in gentleness and beauty. And what to say of her grandmother, Indis of the Vanyar? Alike Finwe, she had been warm to all, especially towards her grandfather. An echo of a smile formed in Galadriel’s face, remembering how her and Irisse had braided their grandmother’s golden hair into quite chaotic tresses, tresses Indis had refused to undo.

Below Finwe’s name were her uncles, Feanaro and Nolofinwe. She had had little love for her first uncle, for in the inside his _fea_ burned far too arduously, something that had instilled fear in her soul. Yet Feanaro had never treated her wrongly, even after she refused thrice to give him a strand of her hair. In truth, Galadriel often wondered whether she had judged her eldest uncle too harshly, and whether he had possessed the same kindness his mother had been so acclaimed for. But Feanaro was a complex being, too complex for the eyes of a child to understand. She had only seen through the first layer of his _fea_ , and had been far too fearful to gaze any further. It was one of the disadvantages of seeing through one’s soul, and with time she had grown to understand that.

And then there was Nolofinwe, her favored uncle. Of him Artanis remembered his fierce spirit, not as burning as Feanaro’s, but fierce still. His bravery was a matter of song during the first age, and with just reason. Yet his bravery came with wisdom, a wisdom that could leave him at times. His bravery had been his downfall after all, a downfall that Artanis grieved over still. Artanis yearned for the old days in which Nolofinwe sat next to her father, watching their children play and rejoice.

And then there was her father, although there were some missing still. There had been her aunts, Findis and Lalwen, the one who stayed behind and the one that went with them. Yet their names appeared not on the paper, perhaps because they had never married or had children, a thought that enraged Artanis. Her father would have been in alike mood, except less impulsive. That was mainly what characterized her father, his serene mind and soft heart. Unlike Feanaro, Arafinwe had a simplicity of soul, one that was composed of tranquility and rationality. Was that the reason he had went back to Aman?

Galadriel soon noticed the tears were streaming across her face. Would her father be proud of who she was now? Of her past and present deeds? It was a question that she could not answer, both out of pain and out of pride. And what would her mother think of her? Earwen, the swan maiden of Alqualonde and daughter of Olwe, would have despised those who massacred her kin. Would she too have despised those that had witnessed their kin being slaughtered?

Galadriel kept her eyes focused on the paper, not wishing to think of the answer. She looked down to the next row below Feanaro’s name. The names of her half cousins were written there; the kinslayers of old. Galadriel knew that she should despise them, perhaps even hate them, but she could not feel such a thing. She had done so for almost an entire age, but as she learned of their deeds through Elrond’s words she began to hate them less. In truth, all she could feel for them was pity, for despite their wicked deeds their hearts were not so. Even Atarinke, who was deemed a villain by many, was not so. She looked at their names, so foreign to her in Sindarin. Maedhros to her had been Russandol, the diplomat, often the stayer of swords when he could. Of all of the sons of Feanor, him and Makalaure were the ones she favored the most, even during her childhood. Russandol, being the eldest of all of Finwe’s grandchildren, was the most responsible, which gave him a reputation of being quite ‘boring’ to the rest of their cousins, with the exception of Findekano. Makalaure had not been quite as responsible, but rather gentle and logical like his mother. He was more like the babysitter of the family, while Russandol was the guard. And what could be said of Tyelkormo and Atarinke? Tyelkormo was skilled, rash and eager to see the world. His ambitions, alike Atarinke’s, could seem impossible, yet he always obtained his desires in the end. Atarinke was of like mind, with the exception that his tongue was quieter and less flattering, although with the same sharpness. And then there was Morifinwe, whose brothers jokingly called him Carnistir. His freckled skin and blushing cheekbones were so often a matter of joke among the sons of Feanor, and his short temper and dark mood only enhanced the mockery. Yet Galadriel knew that in the inside he was compassionate and kind at heart, just as his mother was. He valued loyalty above all things, a trait that perhaps had forged his doom. And the twins? Galadriel had not been close to them, as they often spent their days hunting along with Tyelkormo. In truth, Galadriel knew not what to think of them, having known them seldomly.

Her eyes moved across the page, finding the names of the sons of Fingolfin, her friends of old. Findekano’s name appeared first, being the eldest of his siblings. Findekano had been named the Valiant, and with just reason. His deeds had been of surpassing bravery, with the rescue of Russandol not being the least. For Findekano had loved Russandol, or Maitimo as he called him, and had been loved by him. But alas, what tragedy had befallen them! Findekano was too good for Middle Earth, too brave, too reckless perhaps. His reign had been the shortest in all of the house of Fingolfin, only lasting sixteen years. His death in the Nirnaeth had been a bitter loss, especially for Russandol. Findekano’s death had only worsened his state of mind, leading him to madness. But the kingship had passed to Turukano in the hidden Gondolin. Of him Galadriel remembered the great love and friendship her brother Findarato had bore for him, and of the death of Elenwe, his wife. Turukano had been stern, and wise of word and heart, yet he was proud and stubborn like his brothers. He was secretive, perhaps even paranoid, but who could blame him? He had lost all dear to him; his grandfather, his wife, his father, his brothers, Findarato, Irisse… Irisse, who had been adventurous and free as her brothers, not able to settle in a place until she was forced to by enchantment. Irisse had been a dear friend to her, as they had both been alike in spirit; one who wished not to be bound to a man or a place, and one who wished to have a land of her own. Yet Irisse was not the youngest of the house of Fingolfin, but rather Arakano, whose name was missing. He had been short-lived, perishing in battle after having arrived to Middle earth. He too was valiant and reckless, swift in battle, but not swift enough.

After the house of Fingolfin was hers, the golden house of Finarfin. Her eldest brother, Findarato, was listed below her father’s name. She noted that she was crying again, but she didn’t mind. Like Findekano, Findarato had been too noble, too true of heart for Middle Earth. His love for the race of men had ultimately led to his passing, something that she resented for a very long time after his death. But Galadriel held this resentment not for long, knowing that Findarato would have wanted her to think otherwise. After all, his killer had been the werewolf of Sauron, the servant of Morgoth. Ever since his death she rued his name, and rued it still after his defeat. Yet his death had not been in vain, for the man Beren lived on. She had admired her brother’s noble deed, despite the great sorrow it inflicted her. Many of her deeds had been done on the account of Findarato’s memory, on how he sacrificed himself for the race of men. Perhaps that was why she had been so fond of the hobbits, mostly Frodo, and the dwarf, Gimli. _It is what Findarato would have wanted_ , she thought with tears in her eyes. He would have loved the hobbits as he had loved the race of men.

But Findarato was not the only brother Galadriel had grieved over. Her other brothers, Angarato and Aikanaro,  were also listed on the family three. They had both been so alike that many mistook them for twins, with their long golden hair and tanned skin. Their temper was similar, and Aikanaro’s wrath in battle was famed, as well as his love for Andreth of the house of Beor. Yet their love never came to a close or a marriage, as both he and Angarato had perished in the Dagor Bragollach. Angarato, unlike his brother, had been wed with Eldalote, who bore him a son, Artaresto. But Galadriel saw with some dismay that his name was listed next to hers, as if he were a son of Finarfin and not of Angrod. This was not the first mistake to be found in the book, as she saw that Ereinon was only listed as Findekano’s son. She then turned to the front cover of the book, titled as the “ _QUENTA SILMARILLION.”_ She turned the pages of the book, seeing that it narrated nearly the entire story of Middle Earth with the exception of many events of the Third Age.

A knock was uttered in her door, and she recognized her husband’s voice. “Alatariel, we must ride to meet Cirdan. By then the ship must be awaiting us.”

Galadriel assented, grabbing the book as more tears formed in her eyes. “I am ready.”

Celeborn met her outside of her chambers, walking with her towards the carriage that was awaiting them. He asked not about the motive behind her tears, for he had grown accustomed to her days of sorrow, days in which she remembered all of those who she had loved and had died in the old Beleriand.

Galadriel examined the book further, noting the mistakes that it contained. She was to correct those mistakes, she decided. It was the only way she could compensate what her family had sacrificed while she was in Doriath, when she should have been in Nargothrond. The truth should be mended, to honor all of those he had lost; Findarato, Angarato, Aikanaro, Findekano, Turukano, Irisse, Arakano… Even her half cousins, the sons of Feanor, deserved better than to be deemed as villains when they had only fulfilled the last words of their father. Even Feanor’s actions must be justified, she thought, to make up her harsh judgement of him.

The carriage stopped to an end, and Galadriel stepped outside to meet Cirdan and the rest of the crew. A familiar scent lured her, the scent of the Undying Lands, her home. Tears formed in her eyes once more, but grief was no longer their cause. “ _Atya, I am coming home.”_

Her eyes met with Mithrandir’s grey irises, and he smiled keenly. His voice was clear as water, in their own tongue. “ _I will not say; do not weep, for not all tears are of evil.”_ Her delicate hands met his wrinkled sturdy ones, and for a moment all her sorrow was gone. His smile was reciprocated in her fair features, and nothing else needed to be said between them.  Yet Celeborn still stood there, witnessing their acts. Galadriel turned towards him, his presence being evident. “You will not come?”

He shook his head. “Alas, no. I have no place in Valinor right now, and apparently I have no place in your life either.”

She approached a caring hand towards him, but he rejected such caress. “That is a lie and you know it. Teleporno, the twins have taken care of themselves for over an age now. They are not children any longer.”

Galadriel had expected for him to be hostile or even wrathful, but his words were as soft as ever. “If it is my fate that worries you, I will not stay in Middle Earth forever. I too will sail to Aman, but not now. _N’i lû tôl, novaer.”_

The crew then went aboard the ship, including the two hobbits, yet Galadriel stayed along with Mithrandir, bearing Celeborn farewell. _“Márienna.”_

And so he went with the rest of their people, his people now. Galadriel turned away and headed to the ship, with Mithrandir’s steps next to hers. “ _Al lelyamë, melda heri.”_ \--Said he, embracing her hand gently.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I don't ship Galadriel/Gandalf. I headcanon Gandalf as aromantic, so their relationship is more of a QPP. (queer platonic relationship) Celeborn doesn't understand this yet.


End file.
